Page 15 of Forced Mafia Bride
That same incessant buzzing, but a different day, certainly a different time, because I remember last night….
I shot up from the bed, my hand calming the pounding heart beneath my chest, as I looked past the lonely living room to the sun-kissed kitchen. The half-empty wine glasses sat still on the centerpiece beside the bottle, and my clothes were in the exact same spot.
The buzzing sound started again, and I snatched my phone from the centerpiece table, looking over the numerous missed calls from Hannah before picking up the incoming one.
She cursed under her breath, blowing a sigh of relief. “Finally.”
I rubbed my forehead and massaged a dull ache. “You were looking for me? I thought you had a tracker.”
“I do.” She didn’t sound pleased. “You disabled it.”
I sighed. I did disable it at some point between trying to convince Nikolai to kidnap me and then having him undress me.
“Now, before I tell you how much trouble you’re in, tell me where you are so I can come pick you up.”
A bitter chuckle left my lips, and I remained silent.
It shouldn’t have stung, but it did.
He was gone.
Chapter 6 – Nikolai
The last time I fucked a woman, I forgot what it felt like the second I pulled out of her. It was an empty void, a chasm that allowed the chill to echo through. Nothing but hard grunts and screams of pleasure. She’d begged for more, but I was done. And I’d been done for a while until...her.
The Irish princess walked into the picture with no makeup, a simple dress, fluffy slippers, and a killer smile that ruined my night in the most unimaginable way possible. I’d never have thought such a night possible.
Eyes glued to the ceiling, I kicked my legs up, lay back on the sectional sofa, and knotted my fingers over my groin, rewinding the events of last night. My jaw and fingers clenched. I wanted to stop thinking about it. Aboutallof it. How her petite body quivered in my arms, how sweet she tasted and felt. The smell of perfumed oil on her hair and fair skin. Tiny, dark beauty birthmarks scattered across her back in an eerie symmetric pattern that rivaled a masterful work of cosmic art.
When she breathed in my ear, slipped her warm tongue into my mouth, fisted my shirt, and clung onto me for dear life. I forgot nothing, not even the warmth of being inside her, despite the limitation of that fucking condom.
STIs my fucking foot.
My lips curved upwards to the side, and I scoffed. She was naïve, and cute, andno longer a virgin.I’d gotten her rid of that virtue and didn’t need a reminder of the implications that would follow if her brother or husband-to-be discovered that the package had been tampered with.
I was still on the verge of reminiscing when heavy footsteps stomped on the rug. I angled my neck to catch the intruder, who was sitting down on one of the sofas. Anatoly flashed a strange-looking, mismatched smile, and my eyes traveled back to the ceiling.
“You look like your old, young self again.”
“Meaning?”
His rough tone punctuated the quiet and was accompanied by the rustle of papers, what I readily assumed to be a business magazine or wrinkled newspaper he readily produced from the deep pocket of his jacket. “When you lived for the free life: parties, girls,sex.”
Refusing to glare at him, I closed my eyes. But he wasn’t giving up easily.
“Big hangover?”
“Something like that.” A warning hint for him not to press further, but my relationship with Anatoly had crossed the line of master and servant a long time ago. He only followed orders when the situation demanded that he did. Otherwise, he was just going to wear his heart on his sleeve, and that came with lots of things to say.
He hummed, and I sensed another prodding from the small distance.
“Booze?”
He knew I didn’t take beer.
“Wine.”Red wine.“I drank too much.”
He chuckled, and I was forced to open my eyes and sit upright. When I did, his happiness grew even brighter. Today, he wore a yellow shirt on black dress pants and sported a fresh trim on his head and face. Whoever advised him had gotten it all wrong. Yellow was certainly not his color. It fueled the urge to strangle him more. Now, I glared at him, wishing I could rip that sunshine-yellow shirt off his chest.